


the devil within (she's a storm and i can't stop her)

by savi0urdr3amer



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Character Study, Fire Emblem Fates: Conquest Spoilers, Gen, Identity Issues, Nohr | Conquest Route, Psychological Trauma, Seppuku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savi0urdr3amer/pseuds/savi0urdr3amer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Corrin's Hoshidan siblings drop like flies, her sense of self begins to crumble under the weight of her decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil within (she's a storm and i can't stop her)

**Author's Note:**

> i call this one "i can't believe it's not porn 2.0". here's more angst and character studies, this time featuring a corrin who isn't sure if she's herself or the merciless girl she masquerades as in front of garon. what can i say i just love writing dark stuff like this fml :') i might edit this at some point but right now i'm lazy and tired from working, enjoy kids
> 
> (also guess what i'm also working on writing: more fe femslash smut!! check for some within the next few weeks!)

Sakura’s eyes well up with tears and then go glassy; invisible stitches sew her mouth shut and she turns the colour of porcelain, a doll with ashy hair and shaky limbs, more bones than skin as she curls within herself, thin arms wrapped around aching bent knees. She blinks slowly when she’s asked if she’s hungry and she mouths something no one catches; it’s obvious from the way her lip quivers that she’s trying not to cry again. At night some say they can hear her crying. Others say it’s replaced with screaming, but you’ve never heard any of it before. She looks like a ghost, you think.

-

Hinoka’s covered in cuts and bruises, streams of blood sliding down the lacerations on her cheeks like tears. Her eyes dart to you as she cleans the blood leaking from her newly broken nose with a tightly closed fist, the whites of her knuckles making the bruises look like ink against her paper-white skin. She scowls at you, her eyes flaring, fire rippling through her in uncontrollable waves, though it’s obvious that her own disappointment in herself overshadows her disdain for you, the sister she never got to hug, the sister who shattered the dream she held onto for so long. She’s disgusted and broken, a shell at your feet, the tip of her lance buried in the dirt, her Pegasus heaving a few feet behind her as blood oozes from its abdomen. Setsuna’s arm is badly broken and Azama keeps himself alive with incantations to stop the bleeding from his chest; the light that surrounds his abdomen is like the belly of a firefly, lighting up as it works in sync with the choppy rhythm of his heartbeat. Felicia tries to tend to him but he swats her away quickly, muttering something under his breath.

You tell her you won’t kill her. You stay true to your word, as you always do (or moreso _try_ to do), but the thought of victory still is a tempting thought as you stand above her, watching her wheeze and gasp, trying to catch the breath that’s been forcibly kicked from her lungs. _She’s completely helpless_ , the voice in the back of your head tells you, the façade of the girl that you put on so well, the mask that you wear so flawlessly when graced with Garon’s cursed, heavy presence; it’s like a poison coursing through your veins. _Do it now. She won’t know what hit her._ You’ve never seen such a powerful Hoshidan warrior reduced to a state so vulnerable before, and you could get drunk on the rush of power that it gives you.

For once in your life you feel in control.

For once in your life you feel like you’ve done something right.

No, no.

 _It’s not right_. You quickly remind yourself. It’s sick and twisted and fucking malicious. You laugh bitterly at yourself for thinking something like that and you scorn yourself inside. What good is a mask that doesn’t come off? You mustn’t become the role you play. You can’t. You won’t.

You can pretend all you want for your bastard father, but that’s all it is. Right? Right. That’s not who you are.

Hinoka is dead to the world but her heart is still beating. You tell Iago with the look of a murderer in your eyes that you butchered her like a pig, reveled in her screams, and refused to give her the quick death she begged for on her hands and knees. He doesn’t believe you. Again. _Who has time to carry around the head of a dead princess?_   You tell him vehemently, your words the hiss of a venomous snake. _There’s a war to be fought, Iago. Must you be so trivial?_

Garon looks at you, gives you his trademark brutal smile, and commemorates you. Or maybe it’s something close to that; you don’t even remember the last time he even said something remotely congratulatory to you. You sigh with relief, your heart pounding hard in your ribcage, and wipe the sweat from your forehead when he turns around, Iago walking mere inches behind him like the weasel he is.

You scoff as he scurries away and you barely resist the urge to fling your Yato into his spine. Maybe some roles are meant to be played offstage after all.

-

While you wear a mask, Takumi and Ryoma are meant to perform their own one-man shows on a stage. Except, unlike you, they’re not actors.

Where Takumi becomes hubris Ryoma mirrors hamartia.

Takumi flings himself off a balcony atop Castle Shirasagi, his gaze filling you with dread long after he’s plummeted to the ground. For wielding a bow so nimbly you wonder why his stare pierced you harder than any arrow ever could. You don’t even have time to scream and in two short blinks you’re sobbing. You shriek at the thought of his blood pooling around his body and you want to claw the vision out of your eyes, but instead only bury your face in your hands, your hair a mess of silver as your throat burns, anxiety creating an earthquake in your nerves. Azura puts her hand on your shoulder and her voice is the sloshing of waves, the gentle lull of the sea, a siren’s hymn at midnight, but the disaster eating away at you all but subsides; it all hits you so hard you think you might faint and all you can do is cry out jumbled phrases that you’re too hysterical to understand. Azura just nods soothingly.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you realized a long time ago that Takumi’s downfall was not his rage. It was you.

-

Ryoma collapses onto his knees as Raijinto delves into his chest, piercing through his armor, its tip lit up by scorching flames and jolts of purple static. The gushing of blood is immediate, and the sound of a sliced artery screams into your ears like a reminder of all you’ve done wrong, all you’ve failed to do. This time there are no sobs from you, not yet. You simply stand there, Iago and Garon just mere feet behind you, and you stare, your eyes wide, succumbing to petrifaction. He gazes up at you briefly, desperately, and for a man who should feel nothing but animosity his expression could only be called humble.

But then he screams in pain and it’s gone. His blood is on your hands, your armor, and it’s as disturbing as it is agonizing. In seconds his body falls to the ground and goes limp, becoming damp in a pool of his own blood and suddenly there’s no air in your lungs; your body constricts and freezes like a statue. The static of Raijinto is in your head as it goes dim and suddenly there’s a shrill sound, dissonant, like a claw scraping on a board, a wire becoming undone. It’s the sound of someone screaming and it sounds like a nightmare. Gods. Gods. _Gods._ It takes a few seconds for you to realize that _yes_ , those are your screams, _you’re_ the one screaming and it doesn’t _feel_ like you, but it is. You’re screaming and all of you is crumbling from the inside out, becoming dust in your hands, and you’re screaming because the pain won’t fucking _stop_ and it’s all ending, it’s all your fault and-

Ryoma’s blood is the last thing you see before your vision triples and your eyes go black.

While you’re trapped in dusk’s embrace you discover that it was not the pretender, the actress, the masked girl that was screaming. It was you.

 -

When your eyes peel open your head is the first thing that screams out in pain. Your immediate thought is that someone’s lodged a sword into your cranium and that you’re bleeding out on the floor, but as you sit up you quickly discover that the blood you see is not yours.

Or, really, you remember that it’s not.

You feel the blood rushing from your head and you’re already dizzy again, your palms sweaty on your skin, and your own touch feels both icy and lukewarm, a touch of death. That’s when your eyes go back to Ryoma’s lifeless body, and the scent of blood is so visceral you can nearly taste it. You know you haven’t blinked because your eyes start to sting from staring, yet you can’t seem to bring yourself to do it- maybe because you’re still registering that it was real, that it wasn’t a dream.

The nightmare is real and its name is dusk.

You don’t faint again. This time you’re filled only with nausea and shame so powerful you can only think of it as disgust.

-

Takumi’s hands shake violently as he points his bow at you with a sadistic sneer. The aura that surrounds him is sickening; it reeks of blood and rusted chains, broken bones and acid rain. Even his mouth quivers as the bowstring wobbles between his grotesquely bent fingers, his knees bent at awkward angles, rattling and shivering like the hands of hypothermia are upon him.

His eyes go wide and you can’t see his pupils. His voice is low, his words either a twisted whisper or a malignant screech, and he mouths the same two words as his eyes lock onto yours and he releases the arrow. _Kill. Kill. Die. Die. Kill_.

He caterwauls and it’s the very sound of agony. The monster inside of him claws at his ribs like they’re a cage, and the aura makes his skin simmer; you smell scorched flesh and blood again, and the arrow goes straight for your chest. _I’m the target_ , you think. You watch his sacred Fujin Yumi hit the ground with a clatter and he crumbles before you.

There’s a throb in your chest and the last thing you feel is the back of your head hitting the ground. This time you know you’re not fainting.

You face dawn with not a smile but a grimace, too tainted by dusk's violet light to feel the sun in your bones anymore. You are weightless. 


End file.
